


Feels Good, Tastes Good (It Must Be Mine)

by Just_Another_Zombie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, Dark Stiles, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Vampire Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6400783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Zombie/pseuds/Just_Another_Zombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has practiced this too often now for there to be any negative response. A few weeks ago, when he had been newly turned and was still reluctant to partake in feeding himself, before he had honed his persuasion into the deadly weapon it was now, his victims would attempt to struggle. Their attempts to scream and cry for help had been met with a crushed windpipe, but the early bruising mixed with panic had tainted the meal, and so the creature had been forced to improve his calming influence. </p>
<p>Fortunately some human traits, the useful ones, he had kept after his transformation. And so he kept his stubbornness, his need to learn as much as possible. And it had certainly come in handy. Now, rarely would his prey struggle for escape, unless of course the boy was looking for a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Good, Tastes Good (It Must Be Mine)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naynay_of_house_gay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naynay_of_house_gay/gifts).



His mouth feels dry, too dry to stand. It’s as if he swallowed sand, his throat gritty, the feeling driving him almost to madness. However, he has mind enough to keep himself to the shadows as he watches his prey, observing the almost deserted street.

 The young woman in front of him had just finished her work shift at some seedy bar and was making her way down the street to her car. Her movements were watched by the young man, although, could he really be called that anymore? He was no longer just the ordinary human boy he used to be, transformed instead into a creature of the night, a being of blood and darkness. One bite and a quick transfer of blood was all it had taken, and gone was the humanity that the boy had held onto so tightly, leaving behind the empty shell that now hunted for sustenance.

 He stepped out of the shadowed alley several feet behind the young woman, making his footsteps noticeable and muttering under his breath as he fiddles with his cellphone, alerting the girl of his presence. He doesn’t look up when he senses her look back at him, no doubt sizing him up to see if he’s a threat. The creature represses his laugh when she turns away and relaxes, apparently satisfied that a teenager like him wasn’t any danger. Instead he increases his muttering, before letting out a loud ‘Shit’ and stuffing his phone into his back pocket. He speed up slightly, looking up at the girl in front of him and calling out.

 “Excuse me!”

 The woman gasps slightly, stumbling to a stop at the open entrance of another alley, looking back at the boy. He does his best to look as unthreatening as possible, keeping both hands in sight, before raising one arm to rub the back of his head.

 “Sorry to scare you,” he stammers as he approaches, acting every inch the embarrassed, innocent teenager. “I was wondering if I could borrow your phone. Mine died, and I need a friend to pick me up.”

 “Oh um.” The woman shifts, clearly uncomfortable in the situation. She glances quickly around the street, looking for help or a potential attacker, the creature is unsure, but he waits quietly, impatience growing as the close proximity to his dinner teases him with the smell of the one substance to quench his growing thirst. The girl runs a hand through her brown hair, shifting the air and pushing her scent even closer to the boy. His patience runs thin, so he looks up into her eyes, coating his voice in the persuasive power that grows stronger the more he uses it.

 “Please? It’ll only take a minute.”

 Amber eyes watch the resolve crumble, the woman’s face losing the tightness of anxiety, and relaxing into acquiescence.

 “Sure.” She spoke, fumbling through her purse sightlessly as her eyes are caught to the slightly glowing orbs of the creature before her. He smiles, reassuring every worry she didn’t know she held.

 “Not here.” He offers a hand, which the brunette takes without hesitation, following his lead into the darkness of the alley, out of sight of the street. The two walk until they reach the alley’s end, a brick wall that the boy pushes his victim into softly, not wanting to break the trance he has crafted around the woman. She is completely relaxed before him, all worries melted away by warm eyes and a charming smile. The boy leans in slowly, head tilted to allow the slight height difference between the two, before burying his nose in the join between the girl’s shoulder and neck. As close as he was, he could hear each heartbeat like a boom of thunder, could feel the blood rushing through veins beneath his lips as he ghosted them across her skin.

 He trailed a hand softly up the girl’s side, feeling her shiver beneath him as he stepped closer, crowding her against the brick. His fingers settle gently on her neck, thumb dipping gently into the hollow of her throat.

 “I’m going to bite you now,” he whispered, nosing up her neck until found the best position, each warm breath floating across her jugular vein. “Are you ready?”

 He has practiced this too often now for there to be any negative response. A few weeks ago, when he had been newly turned and was still reluctant to partake in feeding himself, before he had honed his persuasion into the deadly weapon it was now, his victims would attempt to struggle. Their attempts to scream and cry for help had been met with a crushed windpipe, but the early bruising mixed with panic had tainted the meal, and so the creature had been forced to improve his calming influence. Fortunately some human traits, the useful ones, he had kept after his transformation. And so he kept his stubbornness, his need to learn as much as possible. And it had certainly come in handy. Now, rarely would his prey struggle for escape, unless of course the boy was looking for a challenge.

 “I’m ready.” The young woman replied, head tilting automatically to make the process easier for the vampire. He stroked his thumb across the soft skin once more before his mouth opens wide. The movement triggers his fangs, and they elongate from is gums in one clean motion before he plunges them as deep as he can into the throat of his victim just above where his hand rests, keeping his lips locked to the skin and clenching his jaw. Razor sharp fangs sliced through tissue and muscle like a hot knife through butter, and the creature relished the feeling of heavy blood that was released. Hollowing his cheeks, he barely able to finish one gulp before-

 “Stiles.”

 The boy smirked, blood spilling through the broken seal of skin and trailing down his chin as he lifted his head from his meal. Now that he was no longer focused on the hunt, he could feel the presences behind him.

 Well well.

 The cavalry had arrived.

 

With barely a thought, Stiles pressed down on the dazed young woman’s neck, the pleasure of feeling the spine snap beneath his palm causing a giggle to well in his throat. He turned to look at the approaching figures, who were both staring in horror at the broken body now lying at Stiles’s feet. He took the opportunity to really look at the two. Scott and Isaac, of course it would be them.

 The pair of werewolves walked slowly down the alley, spread enough that Stiles wouldn’t be able to escape the narrow space without running into one, or both of them. They came to a stop several feet away, looking up from the corpse until the trio stood face to face, for the first time in weeks.

 Isaac looked the same as always, eyes hard and cold as they had been since the day Allison had died. He still carried himself like the same cocksure beta he had been since Derek turned him, but it did nothing to hide the scent of fear, shame and hopelessness that clung to the teenager. And the funny thing was, none of that was even directed at Stiles, just life itself. Not that the curly-haired boy was wrong to feel that way Stiles thought to himself. Their lives had been full of fear for years now, Isaac’s even more so, and it only kept getting worse.

 Scott on the other hand, didn’t look quite as put together and at peace with the chaos as his partner. The young Alpha had bags under his eyes, which, considering he was equipped with werewolf healing, was quite a testament. Scott didn’t look like the strong, fearless Alpha he used to be. Now, he looked like any other tired, scared teenager. Stiles smirked to himself.

 “Well.” He clapped his hands sharply, smirk widening when the two werewolves jumped at the sudden sound. “What brings you to my neck of the woods, eh?”

 Scott looks at the face of his best friend, expression heavy with sadness and guilt. He and Isaac stand out of immediate reach of Stiles, but the vampire knows that he could move to stand beside them in an instant.

 “What are you doing Stiles?” Scott wastes no time getting directly to the point. He knows there’s no use beating around the bush, the creature Stiles had become was not a patient one, and the Alpha couldn’t risk the vampire running away again, like he had from Beacon Hills. “Killing people? That’s not you. That’s not the kind of person you are.”

 Stiles lets out a bitter laugh, gesturing to himself with a mocking flourish.

“Not exactly a person at all anymore, am I Scott? No, you took care of that when you declined to tell me about the Vampire threat we had in Beacon Hills, and I had to find out about it from the vampire that was fucking biting me!”

 “I was trying to protect you! I didn’t want you getting hurt.”

 “Well that worked so well.” Stiles rolled his eyes, walking slowly to sit on top of a trashcan that had been placed beside the brick. “It doesn’t matter, what’s happened has happened. I’m happy enough as I am now.”

 “You can’t mean that.” Scott protests, shaking his head. “What you’re doing now, killing when you don’t need to? The Stiles I know can’t be happy doing that.”

 “I thought we’d already established this.” Stiles kicks his feet gently against the trashcan he’s sitting on, providing background noise to the conversation he is already growing bored with. Vampirism may have ‘cured’ his HDHD, but some habits were so ingrained in the boy, they were automatic. “I’m not the Stiles you know. I’ve changed in more ways than one, I had to if I wanted to survive. And now, I like how I am. I like what I do.”

 Isaac chooses this moment to speak up from his position behind Scott’s right shoulder (which Stiles can’t help feel slightly bitter about, as he remembers a time when that position was his)

“You didn’t have to become a murderer to survive. Deaton said there were other options for you, instead of drinking human blood. He was going to help you, but you ran”

 At the name of the Vet / supernatural consultant Stiles lets out a loud hiss, the first real sign he’s showed the werewolves of his true nature, besides the body lying on the cold ground. The sudden change in the vampire, from relaxed to _furious_ , has Isaac stumbling back a few steps out of pure instinct. Scott doesn’t move away, but his face does flinch in reaction.

 “Help me?” Stiles’s face is thunderous, his whiskey eyes tinting red as emotion brings his inner monster to the surface. “Deaton was never in it to help me. The second he learned what I had become, he had you trying to force feed me your blood before I was properly conscious.”

 “Why was that so bad?” Scott can’t help but let confusion and frustration cloud his face. “We wanted to stop you from going crazy when you first got thirsty. I was trying to help you.”

 “Sure. _You_ were. Deaton on the other hand-.” the teenage vampire takes a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the streets to distract himself from the growing urge to commit violence. A fight now wouldn’t help him any. He planned to convince Scott that the vampire was beyond saving, and if Stiles were to knock the two werewolves on their collective asses, the alpha would only continue to hunt Stiles down and preach friendship at him in hopes that the words would actually make a difference. What Stiles needed was an opportunity to really mess Scott up, preferably mentally rather than anything physical that would heal. Of course, there was always the option of killing the werewolf, and since his transformation the thought wasn’t quite as unconceivable as it would have been when Stiles was human. However, the vampire really had no intentions of putting Scott out of the misery that was his life. So for now, he had to wait for an opportunity. He continued.

 “Deaton knew as well as I did that werewolf blood was basically poison to vampires. Why do you think the vampire you were fighting never once bit you two, or even Malia? Why it chose to bite _me_ when I wasn’t even involved in trying to kill it?”

 Stiles watches as Scott’s face goes slack at the revelation, his disbelief so strong Stiles almost chokes on the scent of it, combined with the bitter stink of werewolf blood. It’s overwhelming, and Stiles has the urge to fan his face, as if that would do anything other than add in additional smells from the dank surrounding area. Instead, he leans back against the wall and raises an eyebrow in Scott’s direction.

 “Deaton wants me dead more than he wants to help you save me. Because he knows what I am now, and what my kind does. He knows how our emotions warp and change, and our feelings towards certain things and people change, or disappear altogether. So-“

 Stiles swings himself off the trashcan, brushing his pants clear of dirt and rolling his neck as if to loosen muscles. “If you have no more arguments to use to try and convince to go back to Beacon Hills, I’ll be taking my leave.”

 However, before Stiles is able to take more than a step towards the alleyway’s opening, prepared to force his way through the poor excuse of a barricade the werewolves were trying to make, when the sound of a car door closing stopped him in his tracks, and a light breeze carried the faintest hint of a familiar scent.

 The vampire felt his eyebrows raise in surprise as, from around the corner behind Scott and Isaac, his father appears, face looking worn and sleep deprived.

 "Why did you bring him?"  
  
The sheriff took a step towards the vampire, who bared his fangs in a threatening snarl. John's hands continued hanging loosely by his sides as if he hadn't a care in the world.  
  
"I'm here," the sheriff speaks softly, "because I, like Scott, believe that somewhere in there you are still my son. And I made a promise to you when you were born that I would protect you from anything, including yourself."  
  
Stiles scoffs, turning to look at Scott, expression mocking and voice dripping in contempt.  
"Is this your plan?" He questions incredulously, gesturing wildly to where his father stands. "Call my dad here to speak some nice words and I'll magically be 'fixed'?"  
  
Scott ignored the mocking tone, continuing to stare sadly at the thing that used to be his best friend, once upon a time.   
  
"My plan is to help you Stiles. To take you to Deaton and find a way to cure you. Or find a way for you to survive without killing innocent people."  
  
Stiles laughed darkly, head thrown back and neck pale in the bright moonlight that beamed through the clouds and into the otherwise dark alleyway.

  
"Oh Scotty, Scotty, Scotty. I’d have thought by now you’d learnt that innocence is such a subjective thing. Everyone is guilty of something, my only crime being survival. No matter what you think, nothing you do will help me. And to be frank, I don't want your help. I'm happy as I am. And if you try to get me anywhere near Deaton, I will tear your head from your shoulders."  
  
Scott shook his head, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he practically tasted the denial emanating from the young Alpha.  
  
"I know you're still in there somewhere Stiles." Scott pleaded. "Please just come with us. We only want to help you."  
  
"God, you just refuse to listen, don't you?" The vampire groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead as his frustration grew. That’s when it struck him, the one thing he could do to demonstrate exactly how far from hope and without care the vampire was. "What can I do to prove to you that I'm not the person you used to know?" Stiles dropped his hand to place a finger against his chin, expression twisting to a mock version of contemplation, before holding that finger up to signify an idea. "I know!"  
  
It was obvious his acting had distracted the pair of werewolves enough that they were not ready for him to make a move, as he was able to sprint forwards in one swift movement, before retreating back to the standing at the end of the alley, now holding tightly to the Sheriff. Scotts eyes widened in horror as he took a step towards the vampire and his hostage, freezing when his movement caused Stiles to bend the sheriff's head back by the hair, exposing his neck.  
  
Stiles reveled in the feeling of collective panic that burst to life from the three individuals. He felt his eyes glow the blood red that came with his species change, watching as Scott flashed his own eyes in return to the challenge. He could hear and feel the pounding heartbeat of the sheriff, could smell the sweat and fear that dripped from the man.   
  
"Stiles! What are you doing?"  
  
"What does it look like?" Stiles was too distracted to pay full attention to Scott, with the pounding of his father's heart and the rushing of blood echoing in his ears. He licked a line across John's throat, groaning aloud as flavor burst across his tongue. He spent a moment to relish the taste before continuing. "I'm going to prove once and for all that the Stiles Stilinski you knew is gone forever. I'm going to do the unthinkable."  
  
"Son."  
  
Stiles glanced down at his father, whose eyes stared up, pleading with the monster wearing his sons face.  
"Son please. You don't have to do this. Just calm down and think about what you're doing."  
  
"That's your dad Stiles." Scott inputs, voice tinged with terror at the possibility of losing the closest thing he's had to a father since his own walked out on him and his mother years previous. "Do you really want to hurt the man who raised you, and cared about you? C'mon man! You know this isn't what you want."  
  
"Stiles. Please son." The sheriff placed a shaking hand over Stiles', covering the pale appendage where it rested against John's collarbone. "We only want to help you. You just have to let us."  
  
The young vampire glared down at the elder Stilinski, eyes cold

Stiles bared his teeth, feeling the tingle of satisfaction as the fear in the air rocketed to extreme levels, before he swooped down and gripped his father's throat in his teeth, biting down hard. The wave of blood that flooded his mouth was delicious, and Stiles moaned at the rich taste, shivering as he felt the think liquid trickle down his throat. Once upon a time, Stiles had hounded his father to cut back on junk food, for fear that the eldest Stilinski’s cholesterol would grow to unhealthy levels. But now, the fattiness of the blood only served to heighten the flavor, especially considering the heart was not yet contaminated by disease, so still pumped clean, delicious, blood.

In the back of his mind, Stiles was vaguely aware of Scott screaming at him, but nothing could dim the light of his feeding high. It was only when he felt the shift of an attacker at the edge of his spacial-awareness that he dropped the dying body from his grip, using his superior speed to dodge the attack, ducking under the outstretched arm before grabbing it tightly in both hands, snapping it at the elbow with a loud * _crack_ *.  
  
The injured werewolf howled in pain, dropping to their knees. Stiles wiped leisurely at his mouth with the back of his hand, tongue snaking out to lap at any leftover blood before it could fall to the ground. Feeding always gave him an increase in strength and reflexes, and the speed of a vampire beat a werewolf anyday, so Stiles was in no danger. He glared down at the blonde head of the injured wolf, stalking up behind Isaac while the teen was distracted, before slamming a foot down hard onto his outstretched legs, the crunch of breaking bones mixing beautifully with the pained scream.

To his right, Scott snarled viciously upon seeing his beta being attacked, his own teeth lengthening to fangs and fingernails to claws. Werewolf rushed at vampire, the two boys who had once been brothers in all but blood, now fighting one another. It was a short scuffle. Stiles’s emotionless moves beat the helpless anger of the other boy and he had Scott on the ground in moments, collapsed in a crumbled heap beside his pack mate. The vampire walked leisurely towards the pitiful sight, swinging a leg around to hit Isaac square in the jaw when it seemed like the beta was about to try again. With one wolf knocked out, Stiles stood above the remaining teenager, blood red locking with bright gold.

“I tried to tell you Scott, there is nothing left of the person you knew. Maybe after this, you’ll believe me.” The vampire lets out a heavy sigh, crouching down to trail a finger across the crooked jaw of the other boy. The skin is damp with blood, but the superficial cuts had already healed. Scott just lay still, glaring at Stiles as if he could set the monster aflame with a look. Stiles walked his fingers from the werewolf’s face to the collar of his shirt, gripping it tightly. Leaning down so close that their noses were close to touching, Stiles whispered to Scott, purposely blowing a breath heavy with the Sheriff’s blood directly into Scott’s face. “I’ll see you ‘round, Scotty.” He grinned, before using his grip on the shirt to slam Scott’s head against the hard concrete ground with enough force to knock the werewolf out.

It wouldn’t last long, considering Scott was an Alpha, but Stiles would only need a few minutes to make it far enough from the alley for his scent to be untraceable to any hunting werewolves. Not wanting to waste any more time in the dark alley, Stiles darted over to the discarded body of his dad. The Sheriff had only just stopped his struggling breaths and finally succumbed to drowning in his own blood. However, Stiles didn’t want the Sheriff dead. As emotionless as he felt about most things, his change from human to vampire had done nothing to sever the connection between father and son.

The young vampire stooped over his father’s dying form, bring one of his own wrists to mouth and sinking razor sharp teeth into the stronger than human skin. When a steady amount of tainted blood had welled up, Stiles upturned the wrist, pouring his blood into the open mouth of his dad. Now that Stiles had angered Scott by seemingly killing the Sheriff, the McCall pack, or what was left of it, would be after the teenaged vampire with a vengeance, and although Stiles could probably take them all down, a little help wouldn’t hurt.

When the open wound stopped spilling blood, Stiles dragged his tongue over the wound, healing it instantly and cleaning his creamy skin of blood. Once that was taken care of, and the Sheriff had successfully consumed every drop of blood he had been fed, Stiles scooped his dad up in one smooth movement, adjusting the lax body in a simple fireman’s hold. There was nothing he could do but wait now, for the Sheriff to turn, for Scott to find him again. The vampire could admit to himself that he held some anticipation towards the inevitable confrontation between him and Scott in the future.

Without the constant plea for Stiles to return home, maybe the interactions would be more exciting, Stiles could only hope. With his dad secured across his shoulder, Stiles sprinted out of the alley, and down the street, leaving the unconscious werewolves behind to wake up in a few minutes, no doubt with a headache and on a mission to take down the vampire they used to call pack.

 

Things were about to get interesting.

 

 

 


End file.
